This morning, it hit me.
I walked into the living room, looked at the cat beds in front of the glass door and it hit me. Punkin is gone.
In a visceral moment, I felt her loss all the way through to my heart.
All those years.
How much she loved me.
All the nights she slept on my pillow, her paws touching my head.
What will stay with me the most is how she would light up when I said her name. The bond of love was so strong between us that nothing else mattered.
I watched over her last days, tended her dying and wrapped her for burial in a fog of insensitivity. Not a failure to feel so much as a refusal to feel.
Or just a delay.
Somehow, I knew I would have the rest of my life to mourn her loss.